Tiny fractures, p.9
Tiny Fractures, page 9
Vada and Steve drop me off at my house. After talking with my mom for a few minutes, I make my way up to my room and get myself ready for the night, knowing Vada will be back to pick me up early the next morning so we can walk to school together and get finals weeks started and over with.
Saturday, May 29th
Ronan
Yep, I needed this. I needed a night away from home, a night at the beach house, a night with my friends, just letting go of everything for a while.
It’s been a hell of a week. Like the rest of my friends—with the exception of Shane and my brother, both of whom are officially done with high school—I spent my week either taking exams or studying. I tried to do the vast majority of the studying either at school or at the public library because things at home have been tense since my dad cancelled his planned trip home at the last minute.
It’s not anything new or particularly surprising. My dad changes his plans all the time, calling home the day he was supposed to arrive to inform us that something came up at work or whatever. It’s to the point where I don’t even believe my dad will actually show until I see him walk through the front door. I’m surprised my mom reacts this strongly to his broken promises, but she’s been seriously on edge this week. So I’ve been feeling on edge in turn and have avoided being home as much as possible.
But right now all of that stuff feels light-years away as I sit in my usual spot on the sectional outdoor sofa on the porch of Shane’s mom’s beach house. My best friends take up the remaining spots around the fire while Shane’s summer kickoff party is in full swing. There are probably a hundred and fifty people hanging out on the deck, inside the house, or down by the beach, drinking, eating, talking.
I can tell Shane is proud of how things turned out; he has a relaxed smile on his face as he leans back on the sofa, Tori in his arms, her body seemingly contouring to his. Shane’s parties are mostly like this: hundreds of people, only a small percentage of whom we actually know, word about the party spreading by word-of-mouth, first through our school, then through schools of neighboring boroughs. Friends telling other friends, inviting girlfriends, boyfriends, hookups, whatever. Shane doesn’t mind. He thrives in this environment, enjoys providing a space for people to have a great time. He’s going to be perfect at running Murphy’s. It’s just in his blood.
But all that is just backdrop, background noise. For Shane it’s the energy, the vibes, and I know he’s most at peace, happiest, when he’s surrounded by the six of us—or, I guess, the seven of us now.
My eyes move to Cat, seated across the sofa from me, and linger on her face. I allow myself a moment to drink her in. God, it’s like she gets more beautiful each time I see her—which, admittedly, hasn’t been too frequently. I didn’t see her at all this past week, not even at school, and she’s definitely a sight tonight. I mean, she always is, but definitely tonight. She’s wearing a pair of low-rise jeans with worn knees, and a light-blue tank top exposes her shoulders, her smooth skin freckled, just like her nose and cheeks. Her blonde hair is in a half-up, half-down style, strands of it falling loosely down her back and over her shoulders.
She doesn’t seem to wear a ton of makeup, not like some other girls I see around school and at Shane’s parties. I’d guess Cat is probably wearing some mascara, maybe some blush, although the warming temperatures and the setting sun could certainly be the cause of her rosy cheeks. Or maybe Vada, who’s chatting with Cat, motioning her hands wildly, might just have said something that caused Cat to blush. That’s one thing I noticed about Cat right away—the way her cheeks get all flushed with heat when she gets embarrassed or someone compliments her. I don’t think Cat is particularly fond of it, but I really, really like it.
There are other things I notice about her, too: the way her hazel eyes change color from green to more of a brown depending on the light and, apparently, the mood she’s in; the sound of her laugh; and how she nibbles on her bottom lip when she’s deep in thought. All of these things are incredibly attractive, sexy, and they’re all things I shouldn’t be aware of, shouldn’t pay attention to because it can only lead to pain. I’m obviously a glutton for punishment, consistently fucking up in one way or another, but that doesn’t mean I can allow myself to drag someone else down with me.
“You alright?” I hear Shane ask me, his voice low, hushed.
“Yeah,” I tell him, nodding.
“You seem like you got something on your mind,” he says, analyzing my face.
“Actually, just wondering what your plan is as far as working at Murphy’s now that you’re done with school,” I lie.
Shane dives into a conversation with me about his vision for the future—particularly the next few months—our schedules at Murphy’s, making time for friends, to hang out and all that.
I try to focus on Shane, on nodding and responding appropriately, but find myself glancing in Cat’s direction too often. I take note of the way she plays with a strand of her hair while she pays close attention to something Tori tells her and hear her laugh freely with Vada and Summer. And I watch as she stretches her arms over her head, exposing a slight sliver of skin where her tank top rides up over the waistline of her jeans. I feel my body stir, my blood hot with a longing to touch her.
God damn it, this needs to stop. This is not how the evening was supposed to go. I need to take my mind off Cat, do something to distract myself. So I look past Cat down the deck and spot a group of four or five girls standing in a tight circle. I don’t know any of them, but that doesn’t matter. It’s actually better to hook up with someone I don’t have a history with, a girl I’ve never seen around school before, and it’s one of the most effective ways of distracting myself from whatever is going on in my head.
“Sorry, man, but…” I interrupt Shane and nod toward the group of girls, one of whom—a petite brunette in a short, plaid skirt and white cropped top—smiles at me while leaning back against the deck railing.
Shane follows my gaze, then grins. “Alright, well, go do your thing, Ran.” He chuckles and nudges me to stand up from the sofa.
“Hey Ran,” Shane calls after me just as I pass Cat, and I look back at him, feeling our friends’ eyes on me. “Use my room. It’s locked, but the key is tucked up on the doorframe.”
I nod, then make my way to the brunette. I force myself to keep my eyes trained on her rather than allowing them to look at Cat, because for some weird fucking reason I feel even shittier than I normally do when I’m about to hook up with a girl.
Cat
“Where’s Ran going?” Zack inquires from the outdoor sofa at Shane’s this evening.
It’s been a lovely afternoon and evening so far, and I’m enjoying my time with my new friends, just like I always do—relaxing, mostly talking with Vada, Tori, and Summer. I feel myself unwind after the stress that was last week, filled with finals and studying. I feel safe even with the seemingly hundreds of upperclassmen and recent graduates in attendance, owing in large part to how easily and quickly my new friends have taken me into their fold. It honestly feels like I’ve known Vada, Tori, Summer, Zack, Steve, Shane, and Ronan forever. God, Ronan….
“Well, Ran apparently set his sights on Sophie, and Sophie on him,” Shane laughs. He nods in the direction of Ronan, who has made his way over to a group of girls. He stands with his hands in his jeans pockets, his posture confident, assured as he apparently strikes up a conversation with this Sophie girl.
Something stirs inside my chest, a tightness I’ve not felt before when I note the smile on Sophie’s lips, the way she carefully moves her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck, looking at Ronan with big, brown doe eyes.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Vada sighs, shaking her head at Shane, her lips pressed together with obvious displeasure at Ronan talking to Sophie.
“Jeez, babe, let him have some fun,” Steve says to Vada.
“He has fun for however long he’s in that bedroom with whatever girl he’s hooking up with, but you guys don’t notice how down he gets afterwards?” Vada questions the guys, all of whom shrug. “Yeah, I figured,” she huffs. “All you guys worry is about is that your boy gets laid.” Vada turns toward me, demonstratively, her back to the guys.
They shake their heads at Vada’s strong reaction to Ronan apparently trying to get lucky.
“Does Ran do this a lot?” I ask Vada with a whisper.
Vada frowns. “Yep, all the time. The guys always cheer him on and stuff, but…”
“But what?” I try to ignore that tiny monster in my chest rearing its head at the thought of Ronan being intimate with some girl.
Vada looks at me for a moment, wavering, then smacks her lips loudly. “But I disapprove. I think Ran deserves better than random fucks.” She emphasizes the last three words, enunciating them clearly and loudly for the boys to hear.
“Stop being a party-pooping cockblock,” Zack scolds his sister.
“Psh, I couldn’t cockblock Ran if I tried,” Vada huffs. “You guys make damn sure of that.”
“Aww, baby, why are you so angry?” Steve asks, pulling Vada into his arms and onto his lap. I see her face soften. “Don’t worry about Ran so much; he knows what he’s doing,” Steve adds in a low voice.
Vada’s eyes shut when Steve moves his lips to her, kissing her softly.
“He sure does,” Shane chuckles.
Out of my periphery, I see Ronan take Sophie’s hand, then lead her into the house as she smiles at him. They disappear in the crowd of people blocking my view of the interior of the home.
I vaguely notice the conversation shifting focus, Vada giggling between kissing Steve, though that feeling in my chest remains, my stomach in knots. God, why am I reacting so strongly to Ronan retreating into the house with some random girl? We’re just friends. It shouldn’t bother me like this, but for some reason, knowing he might be in a bedroom undressing some girl makes me restless.
There’s no way Ronan could already hold this kind of power over me. We haven’t even known each other a whole month. We’re friends. Good friends, yeah, and even after this short time I would consider him one of my closest friends. I feel safe and comfortable with him, but nothing more than that. He has every right to hook up with whomever he pleases, and I have no business at all judging or being… jealous.
I have the most difficult time focusing on whatever everyone is talking about. I’m unable to sit still and let the minutes tick by without my mind turning to Ronan, thinking about what he’s doing in that room just feet away from me.
Is he kissing her? Do his green eyes stare into her soul like they’ve stared into mine? Is he touching her? Telling her he wants her, or worse, is he already on top of her, feeling her body, filling her?
I stand abruptly, not sure what the hell I’m going to do or where I’m going to go, but I walk into the house without even knowing my destination. I don’t know how or why, but I beeline it to that white marble counter tucked into a corner of the living room. I sit on one of the beautiful white-leather upholstered barstools and rest my head in my hands, my elbows on the cool stone surface.
“You look like you need a drink,” I hear a guy’s voice from behind me.
I lift my head to watch a short but lanky boy with cropped brown hair make his way around the counter and to the shelf that holds various bottles of alcohol. He peruses the selection.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you, though,” I tell him with a small smile.
“I’m Corbin.” He places a couple of bottles he snatched from the shelf down on the counter in front of him.
“I’m Cat,” I say.
Corbin smiles at me as he begins making a drink. “So, what’s got you down, Cat?” he asks me, pouring a little bit of this and a little bit of that into a sleek whiskey glass he retrieved from below the counter. “Wait, don’t say it,” he says quickly, tapping his left index finger against his temple. “Your boyfriend cheated on you,” he guesses with an a-ha face.
I shake my head, laughing lightly. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“So, your girlfriend cheated on you?” Corbin asks, making me laugh again.
“No.”
“Okay, so just to clarify then: you don’t play for the same team?” He stirs whatever drink he’s mixed in that whiskey glass.
“No,” I tell him with another laugh.
“That’s a relief. Would have been such a shame if someone like you was into girls. A real loss to all of man-kind.” He laughs at his own joke, and I smile.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“But wait, you don’t have a boyfriend? How is that even possible?” He pulls another glass out from the shelf beneath the countertop.
I shrug. “Not a priority, I guess.” My thoughts immediately turn back to Ronan. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping this will make the image of Ronan dissipate from my mind.
“Shame,” Corbin says, bringing the drink he just mixed up to his mouth to take a long draw. “So, you’re not here with some guy then?”
“No. Just my friends. They’re occupied with each other.” I look out to the deck, where Vada is still securely seated on Steve’s lap with a smile on her lips. She looks love-struck.
“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?” Corbin double-checks with a grin.
I inhale, then exhale deeply. Oh, what the hell. “Yeah, okay.”
“Awesome. What can I fix you?”
I giggle at his word choice. It seems so old-fashioned. “Uh, how about a rum and coke?”
Corbin nods. “That’s what I would have guessed, honestly.” He turns his back to me to retrieve some bottles.
“Yeah? How come?” I ask him, making conversation while he tinkers around mixing the drink with his back to me.
“You strike me as a girl who likes something that goes hard, but is soft at the same time,” he chuckles. He finally turns back around, swirling the drink with a stir stick for a minute before he finally sets the glass down in front of me.
Corbin raises his glass. “To non-priorities.”
I smile, then raise my own glass, clanking it against his. I chug the rum and coke, one half of me scolding myself for being so reckless, the other half telling myself to enjoy my evening. I’m safe here. My friends are outside; Adam isn’t around. I’m safe.
Corbin nods appreciatively, his eyes moving from my empty glass to my face. “You just keep on surprising me,” he laughs, taking my glass to begin mixing another drink for me.
I wave him off. “I’m good,” I say, half-hearted.
“Just one more. This time maybe just sip it,” he adds with a laugh. “No need to go so hard.”
I nod with a smile, feeling myself relax noticeably. “So, who are you here with?”
Corbin is already in the process of pouring a splash of coke into the generous amount of rum in the glass. “A couple of friends,” he tells me vaguely, once again stirring the cocktail before he pushes the glass back toward me and begins making himself one.
“What are you having?”
“Vodka Red Bull.” He nods, pouring a little—or, actually a lot—of the bubbly energy drink into the vodka in his glass.
“I always thought it was a weird idea to mix uppers and downers,” I say, and am taken aback by how heavy my tongue feels inside my mouth, my words coming out slow and slightly slurred. Weird.
“Yeah, it is kind of a weird concept,” Corbin admits with a chuckle. “But it tastes good.”
I make a face, scrunching my nose. “I don’t like vodka.” My speech is drawn out, and I suddenly have the urge to rest my head on the cool marble countertop.
“I don’t ever drink it straight, either. It’s pretty bitter.” He takes a sip from his glass. “But this is nice. Do you want to try?” Corbin offers me his glass.
I shake my head, noting the seeming lag of my vision with the movement of my head from left to right.
Wow, I know I haven’t had much alcohol lately, but I can’t remember my head ever going so foggy this quickly. This is only my second drink, but my eyelids suddenly feel heavy, almost as heavy as my arms and legs. I probably shouldn’t have downed that first rum and coke so quickly.
“Hey, you good?” Corbin asks, and I vaguely notice the smile on his lips.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I feel like I haven’t slept in three days straight. I have a desperate desire to go find a soft surface, lie down, and go to sleep.
“You sure? You don’t look super steady. Maybe you should lie down,” he suggests, walking around the counter and to my side.
“Yeah, I think I may need to,” I admit with a nod, which makes my surroundings spin violently.
“Here, I’ll help you.” He’s already moving my left arm over his shoulder and around his neck to help me off my barstool. I don’t particularly like the feel of this guy’s hands on me, but I can’t muster up the energy to protest.
“Cat?” I hear Ronan’s voice, which sounds echoey and distanced, like he’s talking to me through a metal tube or like he’s not real. Maybe I’m just imagining his voice, actually. But no, his face appears next to me, and I’m taken aback by the deep crease on his brow, the stern look on his handsome face. His masculine features are harder for some reason.
“Are you already done?” My question to Ronan comes out slurred, like I’ve suddenly lost control over my tongue, which feels dry and fuzzy. Ronan’s expression changes to confusion. “With that girl,” I add, unable to hide the pain in my voice.
He doesn’t respond to my question. “Are you alright?” Ronan checks with me instead. His left hand moves under my chin, tipping my head up; he studies my face, my eyes. God, he has gorgeous eyes. They look like the northern lights I saw when my family visited Alaska last summer, with hues of light green and aqua.
“She’s good. Just tired. I’m gonna help her find a place to lie down,” Corbin says, tugging at my arm to get me to stand up.
Ronan’s left hand glides up to my right shoulder, exerting enough downward pressure that my tired legs are unable to lift my body. “The fuck you are,” he growls at Corbin.
